


Blood Brothers

by Rrismo



Category: Better Call Saul (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Codependency, M/M, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrismo/pseuds/Rrismo
Summary: Nacho would rather shoot himself a third time and lie back down in the New Mexico desert for another couple of days than get caught two-timing a pair of Salamanca twins.
Relationships: Leonel Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Leonel Salamanca/Marco Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Marco Salamanca/Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Marco Salamanca/Leonel Salamanca
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	Blood Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely had to get this out of my system before season 5 airs and makes me face the harsh truth that I may have read way more into Something Beautiful than the show was trying to tell me.

The first time Marco's fingers had brushed the crook of Nacho's arm, the touch had sent a searing sensation through his veins where the Salamanca's blood was flowing. Nacho felt like the scrutinizing gaze of the man had to cut right through him, to his core where all his dirty secrets, his betrayal and fear laid buried.

Still, this he could handle.

The thing was, Nacho wasn’t easily rattled. The time spent with Tuco had taught him to reign in his emotions and keep a straight face. Out of all the men working for Tuco, it had often been Nacho’s task to remain level headed in face of his boss’ unpredictable tantrums, talk him down, and be his voice of reason. Tuco’s cousins were different though. First off, there was two of them. So Nacho found himself standing in the middle of a crossfire from two equally piercing pairs of eyes. Plus it turned out that having a sutured hole in your side and a bullet lodged in your shoulder didn’t exactly help with controlling your features. 

Nacho quickly realized that the looks the twins were giving him were not of the suspicious kind though.

There were perks to being bent over the sink in a dinky truck stop bathroom, watched closely by Marco while Nacho puked his guts out from sheer exhaustion. Well, mainly one perk, and that was not having both Salamancas around.

This Nacho could handle.

He hadn’t even finished the thought when his head started swimming. Eyes rolled back into his head, his vision went white and his knees gave in. He felt two hands grab him, keeping him from keeling over.

For a moment, there was a distant echo of delirium pull him under again. For the blink of an eye, Nacho was lying on cold sheets on a hard table again. Leonel’s arms braced him in place on either side, his own fingers clung onto the other man’s neck as waves of pain and shivering fits rolled through his body. The edges of his vision turned white, the ringing in his ears became unbearable, and still his panic-addled brain couldn’t stop reeling.

Don’t die, that’s what he kept thinking. He couldn’t die. He still wasn’t finished.

It took him a second to regain full consciousness. The large body behind him pressed against his backside. Nacho propped himself up on the sink, his feverish gaze shot upwards into the mirror and he locked eyes with Marco behind him.

“Suéltame, estoy bien”, Nacho muttered between gritted teeth, but Marco didn’t let go. He leaned over Nacho, both hands resting on his hips now, and kissed the nape of Nacho’s neck. Teeth brushed over sweat covered skin for the shortest moment, making Nacho shudder. His wound was uncomfortably wedged between Marco’s body and the sink. To his surprise, Marco released him at his wince. 

“Vente.” Nacho shoved himself past Marco to leave the bathroom. Part of Nacho, the one smothered underneath avalanches of stress and fear and fatigue, felt smug at how Marco stared at him without even trying to veil his interest. Even back in the car, Nacho noticed Marco’s eyes darting into the rear view mirror, and after the third time he didn’t even bother avoiding Marco’s gaze anymore.

He already was knee deep into this shit show. Might as well allow himself to enjoy it.

It was only when Leonel made a move on him the same evening that things got really confusing.

It was late in the day, and the motel room was painted with golden streaks of light from the setting sun shining through crooked blinds. Marco was out on some business that Nacho felt he was better off not knowing about, and he found himself alone in the unventilated room with Leonel. Nacho was sitting on the edge of one of two beds, his shirt open to change his bandages. He did his best to ignore Leonel, who was standing in front of the windows. He cast his broad shadow on the bed right next to Nacho.

Nacho swallowed.

Focus on the task.

The gauze stuck to his wound like tar. The scab holding the two together was pretty much just as black. A hiss and a whispered “shit...!” escaped Nacho as he managed to tear it off. Of course he also removed a portion of the scab with it, making the wound leak blood again. Nacho cursed under his breath, jumped to his feet and grabbed the plastic bag from the pharmacy lying on the other bed. The disinfectant sent a stinging pain through his side, pulling a stifled groan from him. He squeezed a new gauze pad on the wound and taped it to his skin. It barely looked any better than the one he had just removed. His own bloody hands had already left red streaks all over it.

Nacho didn’t have more time to admire his shoddy work though. Leonel, quiet fuck that he was, suddenly stood right in front of him, the tip of one crocodile leather boot edged between Nacho’s own boots made from the same material. Leonel lifted Nacho’s hand, and Nacho had to keep himself from gritting his teeth when the man sucked the blood off Nacho’s knuckles.

It was a strange, intimate gesture, from such an unexpected place. Nacho couldn't help but stare at Leonel’s lips, which were right at his eye level and now had a faint hint of blood on them.

"En tus venas corre nuestra sangre. Ten más cuidado con ella.” Leonel spoke with the same solemn deliberation as his brother. At least that was one way to put it. The two certainly had a penchant for the dramatic.

Not sure how to react to this proclamation and with his head starting to swim again, Nacho pulled his hand back.

The door was right behind him. He could have just turned around and run.

But Leonel was still looking at him like that, head tilted slightly, with what Nacho was reluctant to call fascination. Nacho felt stuck, paralyzed, and maybe, somehow, the faintest bit fascinated as well. There was no denying Leonel was handsome. He was tall, much taller than Nacho. The ridiculous metallic looking suits gave the brothers a stiff shape, but their stance, and the way they moved still betrayed them as boxers to the trained eye. They would have made formidable opponents for a Nacho who wasn’t constantly on the edge of collapsing. 

Nacho tensed his jaw.

Just his luck to get both these lunatics all up in his business. He didn’t care to know what would happen if they found out about it either. The problem wasn’t that Marco and Leonel weren’t his type, quite the opposite. But Nacho would rather shoot himself a third time and lie back down in the New Mexico desert for another couple of days than get caught two-timing a pair of Salamanca twins.

“Espérate un momento, Leonel”, Nacho said and put one defensive hand against Leonel’s chest. Bad idea. Very bad idea. The fabric of Leonel’s shirt felt warm underneath Nacho’s palm. Leonel took one step forward, Nacho backed away, just to find himself once again pressed against a tall body behind him.

Marco.

Shit.

“Te lo puedo explicar”, Nacho spluttered, looking from Leonel to Marco. “No te quería engañar, lo juro!”

“En serio? Qué lástima”, Marco said calmly.

Nacho was sure he hadn’t heard right. Wedged between the brothers as he was, he had to crane his neck to get a look at Marco. Was that a grin tugging at the corner of his lips? Nacho also didn’t see either of the brothers reaching for an axe, so that was good. The way they looked down on him was explanation enough.

They were toying with him.

Maybe it was the fever, maybe that’s what kept Nacho from making a sensible decision. His hand wandered up to the lapel of Leonel’s jacket and held onto it, his second hand followed suit on the other side. From under furrowed brows he looked up at the other man, pulled him in by the lapels and kissed him. He could taste his own blood. _Their_ blood. His lips felt dry and chapped against Leonel’s soft mouth. Two hands - Marcos? - seized Nacho by the shoulders, pushed him closer against Leonel, another pair of arms embraced him, forceful, coarse, but surprisingly affectionate.

The kisses Nacho was used to weren’t meaningful. They were hasty things, given in the back of a car or on a couch, impatient, guarded. But Nacho didn’t have the energy to keep up his guard. He was unraveling, and he couldn’t even find it in himself to give a damn anymore. All he knew, all his brain knew, was that after days, weeks of fretting and strain, this felt good, and warm, and comforting. Nacho let his heavy, tired eyelids fall shut and tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

His hand slipped over the smooth surface of Leonel’s jacket, dug into and clung to it. Another shivering fit hit Nacho, and his knees were about to give in again. But it didn’t matter. Marco and Leonel held him up um without any trouble. Jammed between their bodies, there was nowhere for him to go.

A pair of lips brushed the skin right over Nacho’s carotid, just to press a hard kiss on it, and he suddenly felt keenly aware of his own pulse against those lips. With strange lucidity, he sensed his blood coursing through his veins, stowing and building pressure where strong fingers held on to his wrist, rushing through his arteries to his head and making him dizzy, pooling in his loins and making his dick hot and hard against the thigh wedged firmly between his legs. 

His focus kept going back and forth between the pain flaring up in his side and the feeling of hands on his chest and his thighs, sliding up his ass and resting on the small of his back, pushing against Leonel, tugging against Marco. They pressed together so close, it was like they wanted to become one, as if letting go would mean losing each other, and Nacho in his dizziness felt his skin crawling with fear of what would happen if they did.

Everything was turning when Nacho opened his eyes one last time, consciousness trickling away like blood into dry sand. He looked up to the twins and bore witness to a sight so spellbinding Nacho was sure his hazy mind had to be making it up. Marco and Leonel caught in an urgent kiss, their expressions almost vulnerable for each other. Nacho didn’t know what it meant, but he heard Marco’s low voice murmur between kisses “estoy aquí… está bien, estoy aquí…”

-

The sun was rising when Nacho woke up to a pounding headache. Had he fallen unconscious? Had Marco and Leonel put him here? Had he dreamed it all? Opening his eyes was torture, and a wave of nausea washed over him as he did. He found himself splayed out on one of the two beds, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. On the other bed sat Marco and buttoned up his shirt.

“Tómatelo”, Marco said, scrutinizing Nacho with his usual stare.

“¿Qué?”, was all Nacho could muster.

“El agua.” Marco gave an impatient nod to the nightstand between them. There was a glass of water sitting on top of it.

Nacho stifled a sigh of relief. His lips and throat felt dry, and he was quick to comply. When he was done gulping down the water, Marco was already there to take the glass from him, step into the bathroom and bring him more.

Nacho took another couple of eager gulps, then he lowered the glass and ran his fingers over his chapped lips. He wanted to say something, but before he could open his mouth, Leonel entered the room without knocking.

“Ya es hora de irnos”, he said, and Marco put his suit jacket on. 

“Espérate”, Nacho croaked, the glass of water still in his hands. “Lo que pasó ayer…” He shook his head. “Se queda entre nosotros.”

The twins stood in silence for a moment, and Nacho realized he had no rights or claims in the matter. These weren’t his guys. Even with Tuco and Hector out of the picture, if they decided to speak a word of this to someone that mattered, Nacho’s ass was absolutely and irreversibly grass.

Both Marco and Leonel gave a curt nod, as if it went without saying. Marco straightened his suit jacket and picked up the pharmacy bag. “Vente. Tenemos cosas que hacer.” The brothers turned in unison and left the room, their grim resolve already plastered all over their damn faces.

Again the possibility of escape emerged in Nacho’s head. Get some fake IDs. Flee from this entire mess. Find another way than walking into hell with these two maniacs.

Only now Nacho realized that he had bitten his lip so hard he could feel the pounding of his own blood against it. “Fucking Salamancas…!”, he cursed under his breath and followed them.


End file.
